


Breathe Some Life Into My Bones

by Zenn



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky Barnes Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Cop Steve, F/M, M/M, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Quote: Who the hell is Bucky?, dancer bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-05 13:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13388481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zenn/pseuds/Zenn
Summary: The fourth man doesn't look like the other two of Pierce's bodyguards. While Rumlow and Rollins wear black tactical pants along with black t-shirts, this man is clad in a form-fitting three-piece suit. He also appears much younger than any of the other three, and where they have hard lines and dark eyes he has a striking jawline and chestnut hair shaped to perfection. He is just Steve's type.





	1. Cops, Champange, and Conspiracy

_Thursday Nights here are the epitome of hell and the devil himself personally sends us the worst humanity, as a whole, has to offer._

This was the first piece of advice Steve Rogers was ever given after becoming a Detective at the NYPD's 18th precinct in Midtown Manhattan.

It was also the first thing that Clint Barton ever said to him; the second being 'Hi, my name is Clint, welcome to the end' in a cheerful voice. However what Steve finds the strangest about the warning is that it is one-hundred percent true.

To this day, whenever Steve works a Thursday Evening shift, Clint will remind him exactly what he signed up for. Tonight is no exception, the crazies are out in full force, and Steve has to dodge a soaring stiletto from impaling him in the head on the way to his desk.

"They started early tonight, didn't they?" Steve shouts through the chaos to Clint, who is currently attempting to keep the other stiletto from coming Steve's direction.

"Hey, you signed up for this, Rogers! What did I tell you, Thursday nights here are the epitome of hell and-"

"And Satan himself personally sends us the worst humanity, _as a whole_ , has to offer." Natasha finishes as she passes them on the way to her desk.

Clint pouts at her, "It's _the devil_ , not _Satan_ Nat." Natasha rolls her eyes at her husband's stupidity before turning to Steve.

"Your shift is over at seven, right Steve?" She inquires as she starts going through the case files on her desk.

Steve quickly checks his schedule before answering, "Yep, Seven o'clock and I'm free."

It takes Steve a full sixty seconds to fully process what's going on.

"Wait...why do you want to know?"

When he turns to look at her she's grinning like the damn Cheshire cat and--with a glance over his shoulder--so is Clint. Although, Clint is still wrestling with a one-shoed drag queen, so it doesn't quite have the same effect.

"You're coming with us to _Sister Margaret's_." Natasha states, leaving no room for argument.

Steve groans, "Na-at! You know I can't show my face there, Wilson hates me!"

"Who do I hate now?" Sam enters the room missing half the buttons on his shirt and with three more gashes in his suit pants than he had before he left.

"Not you, Sam. _Wade_ Wilson." Natasha corrects, still beaming at Steve.

They all ignore the state of Sam's clothes, which would have unnerved Steve a year ago, but now it's just part of the job.

"Oh. _Ohh_ ," Sam, the traitor, starts grinning as well, "Trying to persuade Steve to go to the bar with us, are we?"

"Oh no, not persuade, he _is_ going." All traces of a smile leave Natasha's face as she now stares at Steve with a deadly serious look that means business.

"The last time I saw Wade, I was arresting him for Public Indecency," Steve tries to argue.

Whenever Steve thinks about that night he cringes, seeing a guy masturbating with a unicorn is not something you easily get over. When he looks at his colleagues they are all poorly concealing laughter at Steve's predicament--expect Clint--Clint is practically falling off his chair.

"I, I forgot that that was you! Wade was telling everybody that story when we were there last time!" Clint continues his fit of laughter, while still somehow maintaining control of the criminal that he is filling out an arrest report for.

"All I'm saying is that just because he's your CI, he shouldn't get off for something so... so plain out _unlawful_. It just isn't right."

Sam is the one to snicker at Steve this time, "Get off? Really Steve, _Get Off_?"

Steve groans at his own poor choice of wording before admitting defeat in this conversation. He slumps over his desk, buries his head in between his arms, and prays for death.

"So, it's decided then, eight-thirty at _Sister Margaret's_!" Natasha cheerily announces as she turns back to her workload.

Clint high-fives Sam on his way out of the room--with the, still one-shoed, drag queen in tow.

"I hate you all," is Steve's muffled reply from where his head remains planted on his desk.

***

Steve arrives at the bar fifteen minutes late, pausing at the door to take a deep breath, before walking to his most certain death.

Inside, the bar is dimly lit with dark walls and decor, giving off a biker gang vibe. Definitely not Steve's first choice in bars.

The place is full of leather-clad customers, over half of which look like they're fresh from prison--and when Steve gives it more thought, he wouldn't be surprised if they _were_.

"The great Captain America graces us with his presence!" Tony's unmistakable voice draws his attention to a booth nestled in the middle of the bar.

He makes his way over to the table, sliding into the vacant seat next to Sam. Clint and Nat say 'hi', and Tony tips his scotch in Steve's direction before turning back towards Bruce to animatedly talk about science.

"Man, what took you so long," Sam questions as Clint waves down a waitress, "You that scared of Wade?"

Steve sighs and runs his hand through his hair before answering quietly, "I got lost."

"I'm sorry, you what?"

"I got l-"

"No, no. I heard what you said Rogers, explain yourself," Tony demands, obviously more interested in Steve's discomfort than whatever science stuff he and Bruce had been talking about.

"Well, I've never actually been here before-" Steve is interrupted by Clint choking on his drink, Natasha cuffs him upside the head and gestures for Steve to continue, "Uh, thanks Nat. Anyway, I have never been here before, and this place ain't exactly on google, so..." Steve trails off.

"Wade does pride himself on his anonymity and this place being a sanctuary from the police," Bruce comments.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Steve mumbles, already regretting actually showing up tonight.

"See, this is why we call you Captain America; so wholesome!" Tony quips.

"That is literally _only you_ who calls him that, Stark."

"No matter, Cap is here with us, and that in itself is cause to celebrate!"

Before Steve can protest, Tony is ordering a bottle of champagne for the table.

 _What did I get myself into_ , Steve thinks as he internally questions his own sanity and the sanity of those around him.

***

They are well into their third bottle of champagne and everyone is a little bit looser from it, a little bit buzzed. Well everybody except Natasha; damn her and her Russian blood.

 Stark leans over Bruce to grab onto Clint's shoulder, literally pulling him from the conversation he was having with his wife, "So what's this new assignment I heard about? The...the one Fury gave you two."

"Hey, no. Stark you know the rules," Sam scolds.

"No talk of work at the bar," shouts everyone in unison.

"But...but this one is an exception," Stark argues, "Fury put them on special assignment to look into _Pierce_."

Wide eyes glance from Stark, to Clint, to Nat, and back to Stark seeking confirmation.

"Peirce? As in _Alexander Pierce_?"

"Fury didn't tell you guys?" Natasha asks, directing the question at Sam and Steve.

"Why would he tell us?"  
"I didn't hear anything about it."

Sam and Steve answer at the same time. Natasha sighs while Clint rolls his eyes.

"Leave it to Fury to never share his plans," Clint mutters.

"He has his reasons," Natasha responds before addressing Sam and Steve again, "Fury said the four of us would be working on this together since it's such a big assignment."

Sam nods in understanding, but the confusion remains evident on Steve's face.

"Why are we looking into Pierce?"

Natasha raises her eyebrow at Steve, silently conveying 'you're smarter than this Steve'.

"What I mean is why now, we all know that Pierce is a dirty congressman, so what changed?"

Natasha considers this for a moment before responding, "I think it probably has something to do with Jasper Sitwell's body turning up in a warehouse."

An 'oh shit' is heard from Sam, and Tony gives a low whistle.

"I don't understand, what does that have to do with Pierce?" questions Bruce, looking around the table.

"Oh Brucey, how I keep forgetting that you are so new to our little family," drawls Tony.

"Sitwell had little-known ties to Pierce, we believed that they were working together. Sitwell must have done something to piss Pierce off, he doesn't usually resort to murder," speculates Clint.

The group is quiet for a while, all lost in their own thoughts. Tony quickly gets bored of the depressing silence though.

"Alright, enough talk of work, that got bleak real fast."

"You're the one who wanted to talk about it," Bruce points out, much to Tony's appall.

"Bruce," Tony gasps, "You are supposed to be on my side! What happened to Science Bros?"

This earns him a small smirk and one-shouldered shrug from Bruce, and a eyeroll from everyone else.

"Alright, changing the subject from work and Tony's tragic betrayal...has anyone seen Wade? I want to see his reaction to Steve being here," Clint looks straight at Steve, hoping to provoke some kind of reaction, he pouts when he doesn't receive one.

"I haven't seen him or Maria. I wonder where they are," Sam ponders aloud looking around the bar from his poor vantage point squished between Steve and Tony.

The rest of the table glances around at each other before Clint scoffs at Sam.

"Dude you are so obvious. When are you going to 'man-up' and ask her out?"

Sam sputters, "Ask her out, nah man, she's just usually around the bar at this time?"

He tries to play it off as nonchalant, taking a sip of his beer while avoiding the humored gazes of his colleagues, but the shade of his cheeks tell a different story.

"You know her schedule, but _nooo_ you don't have a crush, 'course not." Tony only slurs a little bit while teasing Sam, making Steve wonder just how many drinks Stark has already consumed.

"I have her number if you're interested, Wilson." Natasha smirks when Sam still refuses eye contact with the rest of the table.

Wade's booming voice interrupts the debate starting to form, much to Sam's relief, and most everybody in the bar turns to look at the man.

"-and I'll be happy to remove that stick for ya! Okay, bye-bye now!" Wade stands at the back of the bar with four other men who seem less than pleased with him.

They turn to leave, much to Wade's satisfaction, and when they do Tony gasps.

"Oh my god you guys, isn't that Pierce?" Tony exclaims rather loudly. Sure enough Pierce and three of his lackeys are making their way to the front of the bar.

"Why don't you be louder Stark, I don't think quite everyone heard you." Natasha chastises. Bruce sighs from the other side of the table muttering, "Don't tempt him."

They all stare as Pierce strides past their table, Rumlow and Rollins--two of his bodyguards--following closely behind. The fourth man is sauntering behind the other three, taking his time walking out--and stealing a cherry from a bowl behind the bar while giving the bartender a wink.

The fourth man doesn't look like the other two of Pierce's bodyguards. While Rumlow and Rollins wear black tactital pants along with black t-shirts, this man is clad in a form-fitting three-piece suit. He also appears much younger than any of the other three, and where they have hard lines and dark eyes he has a striking jawline and chestnut hair shaped to perfection. He is just Steve's type.

That's when it hit Steve, this wasn't just his type, this was someone he knows--or at least _knew_.

The man he used to know wasn't a man at all, he was a boy. Steve was seven when he first met him, but he remembers it like it was yesterday.

"Bucky?" Steve asks, ignoring the questioning looks he gets from everyone at the table.

The Brunette whips his head to the side, eyes locking onto Steve instantly.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" comes the gravelly response.

After a couple of moments of mutual inspection of the other one, the brunette opens his mouth as if to ask another question. However, before he can get any words out he is roughly gripped on the back of the neck.

Rumlow stands behind him, and with a sharp tug he pulls the brunette by the nape of the neck away from the table hissing, "Move it, James," as he harshly pushes him out the front door.

Steve, and seemingly everyone else, sit in stunned silence as they watch the two vanish into the New York streets.

Wade saunters over to them, leaning up against their table as he inspects the front door.

"Well that was quite the dramatic exit if I do say so myself," he grins as six pairs of eyes reluctantly tear their gazes from the front door to look at him.

"There that's better, I am a much prettier sight to behold," he adds with a wink.

Without missing a beat Steve quickly interjects, "Wade, who was that?"

"Not even a 'Hello, how ya doing Wade' a 'Wow, it's so good to see ya Wade', or even a 'Damn your ass looks good in those jeans, Wade'?"

Steve just stares at him until he finally gives in with a huff.

"That was Senator Pierce and his...associates, but I think you already know that. You were talking about tall, dark, and handsome weren't ya?" Wade waggles his eyebrows at Steve in what, Steve presumes, is supposed to be a seductive manner. Without giving Steve a chance to answer his rhetorical question, he continues.

"Pierce came in to talk about buying the place or something like that, handsome was there the whole time; never spoke a word. Although, I'm sure we'll find out more about him when we get to the chapter about your tragic backstory."

Over the years Steve had become an expert at filtering out the weird shit that Wade spewed and focus on the relevant information that he provided.

"Pierce is trying to buy _Sister Margaret's_?" Natasha inquires, steering the conversation in another direction, before Steve has the chance to obsess over the mysterious stranger.

"Ye-ep!" Wade replies, popping the _p_.

"Offered me a whole ass-load of cash, but I told him _Sister Margaret's_ is too sentimental to go to some creepy old guy with a stick up his ass." Wade gives them a shit-eating grin, proud of himself for his own cleverness, everybody else looks unimpressed; expect Tony who is almost matching Wade's grin.

"Why don't we hang out with this guy more? I like him," Tony exclaims cheerfully.

"The author of this wonderful, little story lacks the confidence to write me as a main or supporting character, therefore she only throws me in as comic relief to bridge the main plot points together."

The group falls silent as they try--and fail--to make sense of Wade's bizarre statement. Tony is the first one to break the somewhat awkward, heavy silence.

"What is this dude _on_ , and where can I get some?"

"Tony no." Steve huffs, exasperated that he is dealing with _two_ children tonight instead of the usual one.

"Always a buzzkill, Grandpa!" Tony chides, never losing his charisma.

"Well, _anyhoo_ , I should get going; the author is running out of witty one-liners to give me, and besides she wants to wrap up this scene."

Without waiting for a reaction, Wade turns and sashays to check on the other patrons of his bar. The only one who appears mildly concerned and befuddled by the encounter is Bruce, the rest of the group has long since gotten accustomed to Wade's unusual dialogue--that only he seems to understand.

"So, Pierce is expanding his business," Natasha contemplates aloud, looking to the group.

"This could be worse than we originally thought." Sam agrees as the rest of the table starts theorizing about what this could mean.

Steve however is still glaring at the front door, lost in thoughts of blue eyes, youthful laughter, and sun-kissed skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Favorite Word of the Chapter~ [Epitome](https://www.google.com/search?client=firefox-b-1-ab&ei=jkBmWpX2PMXSjAOH3buAAg&q=epitome&oq=epitome&gs_l=psy-ab.3..0l10.37272.38947.0.39069.7.7.0.0.0.0.68.403.7.7.0....0...1c.1.64.psy-ab..0.7.401...0i131k1j0i131i46k1j46i131k1j0i67k1j0i10k1.0.cVp92xEa0Bs)
> 
> All comments, questions, and constructive criticism welcome!


	2. Innocence Is Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The overpowering smell of salty seawater hits them like a brick wall. The shipyard is bustling with activity, groups of people with clipboards in hand shouting at other people, who in turn yell back trying to get their voices heard through the chaos. It's a sea of hard-hats, neon yellow vests, and the sound of heavy machinery.

_Slate blue eyes twinkle with mischief, as soft lips push into his own. The slender brunette boy moves to straddle his lap, and his young nine-year-old brain short circuits as more kisses are pressed into his mouth and neck._

_"Whoa, whoa. Bucky, whaddya doing?" he questions._

_The boy, Bucky, his Bucky, pulls back with a smirk._

_"You love me dontcha Stevie?" he asks, voice all faux innocence, and he adds in a fake pout for good measure._

_"Sure...sure I do. I just..." he trails off as Bucky soothingly strokes his cheek._

_"Don't think 'bout it so much Stevie. Not like we're doing anything bad, kissing is natural. Kissing is good. Trust me, Stevie. Don't cha trust me," Bucky purrs._

_Before he has a chance to answer, Bucky is connecting their lips again in a tentative kiss._

_This time Steve kisses back._

_He forgot how wonderful Bucky's lips felt on his own and when Bucky starts to trail the kisses down his neck, Steve--_

"Rogers," Fury shouts from the front of the squad room. Sam, Clint, and Natasha turn to look at him; Natasha wears a smirk like she knows exactly what he was thinking about, and she probably does.

"Are we boring you, Steve? Because I can always reassign you to a different unit," Fury warns.

"No, no," Steve shouts a little too quickly--a little too loudly, "I want this assignment, sir. I'm listening."

Fury had been debriefing them on all of Pierce's movements, over the last six months, for the last hour and a half. Steve had zoned out sometime after they started discussing Pierce’s recent entrepreneurial purchases, the topic making him think of last night at the bar--more specifically of Bucky.

"Why is being a part of this assignment so important Steve? Wouldn't have anything to do with that handsome stranger from last night would it," Clint teases, and normally Steve would throw something at his head, but Fury is here so he settles for a glare. Much to Steve's annoyance this only results in Clint grinning harder.

"I hope you aren't making personal connections to anyone with ties to Pierce," Fury questions, but it sounds more like a warning.

"Oh, it's a little late for that," Clint mutters under his breath, but Fury hears it anyway--of course he hears it.

"Do I need to pull you off this assignment, Rogers? I can't have anyone jeopardizing this, Pierce's enterprise is too influential to let him get away."

"No, sir," Steve states dutifully, "he… the man from last night just looked like someone I used to know."

Fury doesn't seem convinced and continues to stare at him.

"He clearly wasn't who Steve thought he was though," Natasha interjects before things get too intense, "he didn't even recognize Steve."

When Fury looks at Sam and Clint for confirmation, Steve mouths 'Thank You' to Natasha, who winks in return.

"Dude barely said five words to Steve before leaving," Sam informs Fury, not telling the whole truth but not exactly lying either.

"Yeah, I was just teasing Steve, the guy clearly didn't know him," Clint adds, "I mean I kind of felt bad for Steve, with how quickly that guy tried to get away from him."

Fury still looks suspicious, and he probably knows that they aren't telling the whole truth here, but he lets it slide for now.

As he continues briefing the team on Pierce and his associates, Steve tries not to let his mind wander back to Brooklyn.

***

"So why are we headed to the docks," Steve inquiries from the backseat of the precinct's Tahoe.

Natasha scoffs from the driver's seat, while Clint tries to conceal a chuckle in the seat beside her.

"You really weren't paying attention, where you," Sam jokingly chides next to him.

"Oh, of course, he wasn't," Clint asserts before Steve can respond, "he was too lost in fantasies about a _certain someone_." Clint copies the eyebrow waggle Wade had given him the previous night, and Steve regrets fighting to stay on this assignment.

"I wasn't having fantasies," he huffs, not convincing anyone in the car, "I was having... memories."

Sam and Clint, being the five-year-olds that they are, both _ooooo_ in unison.

"So, you do know him," Natasha affirms, and sometimes Steve wonders if she's the only other adult on this team.

"Used to," Steve corrects, "I used to know him."

Natasha glances at him in the rearview mirror, inspecting his features in a calculated manner. Many years of both working alongside her and having her as a friend has taught him that this is her concerned look. He nods in a silent 'I'm fine'.

"You sure it's _him_ , man?" Sam asks, gaining back some maturity and contributing to the conversation instead of just snickering with Clint.

"Yeah," Steve sighs.

Looks are exchanged as Steve fiddles with the paperwork concerning Pierce they are supposed to review.

"How do you know?"

Steve sighs long and low, before mumbling, "It's just a feeling."

"We're headed to the docks because that was the last place Sitwell was reportedly seen with Pierce before he died," Natasha says, answering Steve's earlier question and effectively shutting down the awkward conversation about Steve's personal life; a subject he clearly does not want to talk about.

Steve rifles through the paperwork, coming to the right page he lifts his head and addresses the group.

"We suspect that they were working together using shipping containers transported on cargo ships? That would be a new one for Pierce."

"It might not be that new actually," Clint speculates, scrolling through a document on his phone.

Steve raises his eyebrow at Clint when he doesn't continue.

"Are you going to elaborate, Clinton," Sam reprimands, doing his best Natasha impression.

Even Steve has to laugh along with Sam and Natasha when Clint looks back at Sam with pure mortification written on his face.

"My name is not _Clinton_ ," he pouts, going as far as shuddering when he says _Clinton_.

Natasha pats him condescendingly on the head, and he brushes her off, pout still in full force.

With a huff, he finally finishes his sentence, "When Jasper Sitwell's residence was searched they found a paper trail suggesting that the cargo shipments have been coming and going for almost a year. However, no shipment container numbers are directly referenced, so we can't be sure that shipping containers are even what the paperwork is referring to."

They all take some time to process and evaluate this new piece of information.

"Well better to be safe than sorry," Sam comments, "We have any specifics on which shipping containers to investigate or are we just going to walk around willy-nilly?"

"We should start with talking to the dockmaster and go from there," Natasha answers while expertly pulling into a narrow parking space.

"Here goes nothing," Clint cheers as they all pile out of the car.

The overpowering smell of salty seawater hits them like a brick wall. The shipyard is bustling with activity, groups of people with clipboards in hand shouting at other people, who in turn yell back trying to get their voices heard through the chaos. It's a sea of hard-hats, neon yellow vests, and the sound of heavy machinery.

"Nothing like the smell of seaweed and the squawk of seagulls to cure that hangover, amiright?"

Sam officially lost his mature title yet again, receding back to acting like a five-year-old.

The group proceeds towards the dockmaster's office, situated on the opposite side of the shipyard than where they parked. As they make their way through groups of crewmen and in between the seemingly endless shipping containers, they hear a distinctly familiar voice.

They emerge from a row of containers and as the dockmaster's office comes into view they quickly place the voice.

"Well looks like today is our lucky day," Clint states flatly as all eyes land on the unmistakable suit-clad figure of none other than Alexander Pierce.

"Oh, hey look Steve! Your boy is here too," Clint adds with considerably more excitement.

Sure enough with a second glance, Steve spots Bucky standing off to the side with Rumlow and Rollins.

"He's not _my_ boy," Steve doesn't add _at least not anymore_ , but he thinks it.

"Want to bet? Let's go find out." A bounce is now present in Clint’s step, reminding Steve of an over-energetic Golden Retriever.

As they draw closer Pierce takes notice of them and draws Rumlow closer to whisper something in his ear. Rumlow shoots a glare in their direction, before turning around to roughly grab James' neck; similarly, to how he had the previous night at the bar.

"New plan," Natasha hisses as the group continues towards Pierce, "Steve and I will go talk to Rumlow and the mystery man; Clint, you and Sam go talk to Pierce and--"

"But Na-at!" Clint whines, feeling dejected that he doesn't get to go talk to one of Steve’s old friends.

"No buts," Natasha snaps already pulling Steve towards Rumlow and Bucky.

***

As they hurry to catch up to the retreating backs of the two men, Steve tries to come up with something to say to Bucky.

He obviously didn't know or didn't remember the name _Bucky_. Or perhaps he was so shocked to see Steve after all these years, he didn't know what to say. Maybe he was excited to see Steve and was going to joyously embrace him if Rumlow hadn't drug him--quite literally--out of there. Okay, so maybe that last one was a tad far-fetched, but a guy can dream, right?

Maybe he didn't remember Steve at all, which would explain his 'Who the hell is Bucky' question. The thought of that, of Bucky not remembering him, made Steve's stomach turn. They had only known each other for two years, over a decade ago, but Bucky was Steve's first crush, first kiss, first lo-

Steve's train of thought is cut off by Natasha yelling, "Rumlow!" at the two men's backs.

Rumlow, feet away from a sleek, black limo, whips around to face them--hand still firmly gripping Bucky's neck. The two men stare at Natasha as she and Steve make their way close enough to talk without having to yell over the noisy industrial sounds.

"Buc-" Steve starts once they've reached the two men, but Natasha promptly cuts him off.

"Brock Rumlow?" she asks, glancing at Steve to make sure he won't interrupt.

"Yes," he answers gruffly, eyes cold and calculated as he inspects Natasha and Steve.

"I am Detective Romanoff and this is-"

Natasha is cut off by Rumlow's voice, as his whole demeanor changes from steely and shut-off to creepily charismatic.

"Detective,” Rumlow leers at her, “I always love a woman in uniform,"

"Well, too bad I don't wear a uniform," Natasha fires back, "As I was saying, I am Detective Romanoff and this is Detective Rogers."

Rumlow grunts at her dismissive tone but doesn't interrupt her again.

"We already know who you are, but I don't think I'm acquainted with your friend here."

Rumlow bites out a sharp laugh when Natasha says the word ‘friend’, but he finally drops his hand from Bucky's neck. All eyes fall to the handsome brunette, but he just stares at Rumlow seemingly waiting for something.

"James here is a... work associate and he doesn't speak English," Rumlow says, lips curling into a feral smirk.

Steve and Natasha share a quick glance, unanimously deciding to ignore Rumlow's out-right lie.

"Oh, he doesn't speak English?" Natasha asks, voice laced with faux innocence.

"That's right. Go ahead, ask him yourself," Rumlow dares, lips twisting into a sardonic grin.

All eyes land back on the brunette, and when Rumlow prompts he turns his head towards Natasha.

"Do you speak English," she asks, watching closely for a reaction.

For his part, Bucky--or does he go by James now?--attentively observes Natasha's lips as they form each word. When she finishes her question, he lifts his gaze to meet her eyes.

"У тебя красивые глаза," he states in flawless Russian, voice heavy with an accent. _The wrong accent_ , Steve's mind screams. When he pictures Bucky he is all heavy Brooklyn accent and bright, youthful eyes, but the man in front in front of him has a Russian accent accompanied with a blank stare; and his name is James.

"как насчет моих глаз?" Natasha questions, quirking an eyebrow.

"У вас красивые глаза, балерина. Но это не ваш вопрос." James replies, the ghost of a smile flitting over his face, gone in a blink.

"нет," Natasha remarks, studying James like a puzzle, "Как твой английский?"

"Я говорю на многих языках," James replies conversationally, "Трудно отслеживать."

Natasha narrows her eyes, before giving James a smirk--like she has solved the puzzle. James barely smiles back, but there is a smile there--like he was happy she has solved it.

"Okay, enough Russian," Rumlow barks, effectively breaking up whatever moment Natasha and James were having.

"James has places to be," Rumlow states, glancing over at Pierce. James' eyes stay locked on Natasha, yet he's now inspecting her like she's the puzzle--a couple pieces away from being solved.

Rumlow puts his hand back onto James' neck and his gaze abruptly drops to the ground as his whole body stiffens. "Time to go," he commands, starting to tug James towards the limo.

Steve wants to walk over punch this asshat, grab ~~his Bucky~~ James and never let go--and he moves towards the two to do just that, but Natasha grabs his arm and pulls him back. Steve turns to glare at her, but she just glares back and shakes her head 'no' at him.

"Mr. Rumlow we aren't finished talking to you," she says, putting a little allure back in her voice.

Rumlow turns to her with a scoff, " _We_ ," he says giving James' neck a small shake, smirking at Steve's vehement glare, "are finished. If you have any further questions, you can contact Pierce’s lawyer."

With that, he turns back towards the limo and shoves James into the back before climbing in after him--after a few seconds the limo speeds out of the shipyard.

As soon as the limo is out of sight Steve whips to look at Natasha, "Why didn't you let me stop them?"

"We didn't have anything to charge them with, Steve," she says levelly, voice fractionally softer than usual.

"But, Nat, the way he grabbed Bu--James--did you... you saw that right?" Steve rambles disconcertedly. 

Natasha gently puts a hand on his shoulder, "I saw Steve, but you know that's how Pierce's men treat their subordinates. Besides, grabbing someone by the neck is not a chargeable offense."

Before Steve can argue with Natasha's statement, Clint and Sam stroll up.

"Tell me you were more successful than us," Clint groans when he reaches them.

"No," Steve responds the same time as Natasha says, "Very successful."

All three men turn to Natasha, identical looks of confusion crossed with curiosity painting their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Favorite Word of the Chapter~[Sardonic](https://www.google.com/search?q=sardonic&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&client=firefox-b-1-ab)
> 
> I blame Google translate for all my Russian translation mistakes.
> 
> All comments, questions, and constructive criticism welcome!


	3. Deals  In The Dark

Thursday night finds the four detectives, and two forensic scientists, crammed back in the same booth at _Sister Margaret's_.

"So," Tony utters, somehow already possessing a glass of scotch, "I heard you have some juicy gossip to share with the class."

Natasha, Sam, Clint, Steve, and Bruce exchange puzzled glances, before turning to Tony for elaboration.

"Really? Tall, dark and Russian or so I heard," Tony huffs, looking thoroughly disappointed in his team.

"Oh," Clint realizes, "at the docks. I wasn't there for the conversation, but Tasha was."

Natasha nods, sipping her Vodka cocktail, and giving Steve a secretive smile. "So was Steve."

Tony whips his gaze back and forth between the two, before finally giving up and whining out, "Alright, somebody tell me, I'm dying here."

"I don't know what he said, he spoke Russian," Steve comments, returning Natasha's smile.

"How do you even know about that Stark," Sam questions.

Tony huffs at Natasha for still not answering his question before addressing Sam, "A little birdie told me, now give me the details!"

Natasha takes another drink of her Vodka, a smile forming on her lips, "I don't know Tony, it's fun to watch you sweat."

Tony sighs exasperated, "Please tell me Romanoff."

Natasha waits a couple more minutes, slowly swirling her drink, just to torture Tony a bit more.

"Steve and I were questioning Rumlow and he said that the stranger--the one from last week--didn't speak English," Natasha finally gives in, much to Tony's relief.

"Lied," Steve interjects, resentment at Rumlow exceedingly present in his voice.

"Right lied," Natasha corrects glancing at Steve, "anyway so I asked him if he spoke English and he replied in Russian."

Natasha pauses to take another sip of her drink, making Tony throw his hands up in the air in petulance.

"What, that's it? So anti-climactic," he shouts dramatically, causing several patrons to turn and stare at him.

"Patience Anthony," Natasha chastises, "I'm getting there."

Tony glares at her for playing the _Anthony_ card but is pleased to hear that there is more to the story.

"Now, the fact that he spoke Russian wasn't what got my attention, it's what he said that threw me. He complimented my eyes," Natasha explains to the eager Tony.

"Well they are pretty eyes," Clint adds, blowing Natasha a kiss.

Tony rolls his eyes, while Sam makes gagging noises at the pair, Steve and Bruce patiently wait for Natasha to continue.

"That's not the point, Clint," Natasha scolds, "He _knew_ I spoke Russian before I asked him anything."

The rest of the group ponder this before Tony's force morphs into confusion, "How do you know that he knew?"

Natasha shrugs one shoulder, "He wasn't very cooperative, but he made it obvious that he was more aware than he let on."

Suddenly a warm body presses into Steve's side as someone slips into the seat next to him. Steve turns to tell Wade to 'fuck off' but is instead met with piercing blue eyes and brunette hair. However, these eyes aren't looking at him, they are intently focused on Natasha.

"Hey beautiful," James purrs as he lifts a glass of amber colored liquid to his lips.

All conversation at the table stops as everyone turns to stare at the newcomer, waiting for Natasha's reaction. Normally when a stranger in a bar tries to hit on Natasha the rest of the team has front row seats while she tears him--or on occasion _her_ \--to pieces. Even Steve--who is against violence, but also 100% against sexual harassment--enjoys the spectacle when the chance arises.

So, it is natural when Tony whispers, "Fuck him up Natasha."

However, this isn't your average stranger, so Steve and Sam both turn to look at Stark with matching expressions of shock on their faces.

"Tony, this is the stranger we saw here last week," Clint stage whispers across the table, "the Russian weirdo who Tasha spoke to at the boat place."

"Shipyard," Bruce corrects offhandedly as Natasha cuffs Clint on the back of the head. Clint huffs back a quiet, "Whatever."

Tony's face scrunches up in confusion before realization dawns on him, and he inspects James with renewed interest.

"Well in that case, don't fuck him up Nat."

Natasha rolls her eyes at Tony, before turning back towards James, who has been staring at her for the entire encounter--patiently awaiting her response.

"I thought you didn't speak English," she comments raising a single, perfectly sculpted, eyebrow at him.

A charming smile graces his face, so different from the barely there turn of lips that Steve had witnessed at the shipyard less than a week ago.

"I didn't," he responds, voice full of bravado and confidence coming off him in waves.

"So, wait," Clint interrupts, "you're telling me you learned English in..." Clint pauses to count on his fingers, "six days?!"

James turns his sultry gaze from Natasha to Clint, slowly licking his lips before answering.

"I'm a quick learner, Detective," he drawls.

"Alright, I'm calling bullshit on that one," Tony exclaims, making all eyes turn to him.

James takes a second to let his eyes rove over Tony's form, before stopping at his eyes.

"You calling me a liar, Mr. Stark," James pouts, gazing up at Stark through his lashes.

Tony looks at him with huge eyes, both shocked that James is _flirting_ \--that is flirting right?-- with him and the fact that he knows his name.

"How do you know my name," Tony questions hesitantly. And Tony Stark doesn't do hesitant. What? He doesn't. Tony Stark has copious amounts of self-esteem, thank you very much!

James smirks at him before taking a leisurely sip of his drink, a rather predatory look now gracing his features.

"Well you are famous, sir. I mean designing _and_ constructing the first fully functional AI isn't a small feat, give yourself some credit."

Tony seems ecstatic after hearing this, his self-confidence flares up at James' flattery, which Steve knows isn't necessarily a good thing. Though before Stark can squeeze anymore compliments out of him, James continues--this time addressing the group as a whole.

"Well, actually, I did extensive background research on everyone here, so... I guess you aren't so special," he says, giving Stark another charming grin. Stark in turn gives him a baffled, faintly wounded, look at the sudden alter in James' demeanor.

"Man, what the hell," Sam exclaims, "you did 'extensive background research'?"

James slowly turns to look at Sam, visibly unsettled with his tone of voice.

"I think what Sam means," Steve starts, talking for the first time, "is what do you mean by you did  'extensive background research' on us."

James studies Steve for a minute, seemingly lost in his facial features, before meeting his eyes--looking as if he just came out of a daze.

"I do research on anyone I plan on doing business with," James states, and when he is only met with blank stares of confusion by everyone at the table, he continues, "to assure that they are at least mildly trustworthy."

"Yeah... that, that clears it all up. Thanks man," Sam exhales, still looking thoroughly confused.

"You're welcome," James replies genuinely, before turning back towards Natasha.

"I think he was being sarcastic," Bruce speaks up.

James whips his head to Bruce, studying his lips before mimicking the word silently a few times.

"Sarcastic...?" James repeats slowly, as if talking to a child. And then he tilts his head to the side in confusion, like a puppy. Steve is hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia, because that's exactly what Bucky used to do whenever a teacher or parent said a word he didn't know.

"Sarcasm, it means he was being ironic. He didn't actually understand what you were trying to convey," Steve explains.

"Oh," James huffs, looking irritated with his own lack of understanding.

"You didn't seriously not know what _sarcasm_ meant, did you," Clint asks astonished.

James' face swiftly changes from embarrassment back to suave bravado. Steve realizes, not for the first time, that the man sitting next to him is behaving entirely different from when they had seen him before.

In place of the uncommunicative man they had seen at the docks now is a charming, _flirtatious_ man. James appears to slip into the two conflicting personalities, similarly to how a normal person would slip into a coat.

Steve had seen the mask of confidence crack when Sam raised his voice and when he couldn't comprehend what sarcasm meant, but he rapidly adjusted to the situation and slipped back into his fake charisma.

"I don't yet understand all these English words," James purrs at Clint, "but I'm eager to learn, sir."

Everyone at the table, even Tony who is usually the one to make inappropriate sexual comments, falters at James' forwardness.

"I still want to know what he meant by extensive background research," Bruce voices after a heavy lull in conversation.

"Friday," James directs at Natasha, effectively shutting off the rest of the table again, "why didn't you say anything?"

Natasha's knowing grin forms on her lips as she replies, "So you _were_ testing me?"

James matches her grin, taking a sip from his glass. And though neither speaks a word they seem to be conveying millions to one another.

"So, I passed," she states after a while, "what do I get?"

James pulls a card out of the inside of his suit jacket pocket and slides it over the table, eyes never leaving Natasha's.

"This didn't come from me and we," he says gesturing to the group, "never talked. Understood?"

"Understood."

James gives another small smile before nodding his head and getting up from the booth. He straightens out his tie before scanning the bar and turning to leave.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Clint voices before James can depart, "you can't just slid a card across the table, vaguely threaten four police officers, and then leave. This isn't some cheesy 80s mobster film."

James turns back to the table, suave grin in place like a mask, before addressing Clint.

"I got myself a date detective, but I'll pencil _you_ in for next week."

With a wink, he saunters over to the bar and sidles up to a man that has to be at least twice his age. Steve intently watches as he whispers in the man's ear, and then they turn to leave. The man guides James by the neck, in a similar fashion to the way Rumlow does, making Steve's blood boil.

When they exit, Steve turns back towards the rest of the group to see that they were watching the pair of men with the same amount of interest.

"Date my ass," Clint snarks, "Pierce must have him working deals or something."

"Yeah, that guy had shadiness written all over him," Sam agrees.

"Maybe," Natasha says cryptically, examining the small business card James had given her.

"What does it say Tasha," Clint asks, still slightly out of sorts from the conversation with James.

"A time and a place," she says handing the card to her husband, "that's it."

Sam grabs the card before Clint has a chance to see it, grinning triumphantly at his findings.

"Oh my god," Sam shouts dramatically, "this dude _is_ from a crappy 80s film!"

Clint grabs the card back, doing his own inspection, before nodding at Sam.

"Told ya," Clint remarks, clinking his beer bottle against Sam's.

Steve takes the chance to snatch the card out of Clint's grasp, hurriedly scanning over it.

_1:00 a.m. Sunday.319 E 95th St._

That's it. In perfect calligraphy--and really who knows calligraphy anymore--is a time and a place, vague as can be. But what stands out to Steve is that it's _Bucky's_ handwriting. Of course, Bucky never knew calligraphy before, but he still does that thing with his _h’s_ that makes them look more like _b’s_ ; used to piss their teachers off to no end.

Sam peers over his shoulder, reading the card aloud to the table.

"He even wrote it in calligraphy," Sam chuckles, passing the card to Clint, "this dude is genuinely getting into character."

"95th St," Steve thinks aloud, "that's the Upper East Side, right?"

Bruce takes the card from Clint, pulling out his phone his fingers expertly fly across the screen at a speed that Steve could never hope to achieve--Tony teases that he's allergic to technology. Steve isn't so sure it's a joke.

"Yeah, Upper East Side, by that pizza place Tony likes," Bruce informs Steve.

"Pizza? What Pizza?" Tony exclaims, not fooling anyone. So much for that diet.

" _Ooooo_ ," Clint mocks, "I am so telling Pepper that you cheated on her!"

Tony stares bewildered at Clint clutching his heart, "How could you?"

"We could come to an arrangement," Clint offers tactfully, "you skipping our body to the front of the line could definitely help me forget about this."

"Deal," Tony concurs making grabby hands at Bruce, "now lemme see that card."

Tony carefully studies the three pieces of information written in perfect penmanship before flipping the card over.

"Oh, jackpot," Tony exclaims, "he wrote a little love note on the back for you Nat!"

"It's not a love note," Clint argues, grudgingly handing the card back to his wife at Tony's prompting.

"It's written in Russian," Tony declares, " _and_ it has a winky face!"

Clint glares at Tony before turning his attention back to Natasha, only to find her smirking down at the note.

"Tasha no," Clint begs histrionically, "you can't leave me for a tall, handsome Russian!"

Natasha pretends to think about it for a second, before pulling Clint into a kiss, flicking his ear when she pulls away.

"It's a difficult decision," she says solemnly, "but since I'm already married to you, and divorce paperwork is a bitch, I suppose I choose you."

Clint beams at this, as if he was genuinely worried over Natasha's decision.

"Besides," she adds turning her gaze to Steve, "I think _that_ Russian is already taken."

Steve feels heat rise to his cheeks, he quickly takes a swig of his beer, and resolutely avoids any and all eye contact.

"So," he utters, gaze firmly on his beer bottle, "what does the note say?"

" _Mhmm_ , nice reflection Rogers," Natasha stares at Steve for a couple of moments before mercifully reading the card, "Don't be late, Ballerina."

" _Awww_ ," Tony croons, "he has a pet name for you Nat! Told ya it was a love note."

Natasha continues, completely ignoring Tony's intoxicated remarks--much too his disappointment. "He called me a ballerina at the docks too," she informs them, but her eyes don't leave Steve.

"You used to be a ballerina, didn't you?" Steve asks.

Natasha nods, "Your boy knows how to read people, that's for sure."

Steve decides to disregard the fact that she called Bucky _his_ , and is grateful when Clint interrupts the conversation.

"Hey, sucker left his drink behind," Clint cheers, reaching across the table to grab James' left behind glass. He drinks the rest of the liquid in one go, before sputtering on it which leads to a rather loud coughing fit.

"Scotch too strong for you, Bird Boy?" Tony chides, laughing as Clint wheezes.

"Dude had apple juice in there!" Clint exclaims flabbergasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Favorite Word of the Chapter~ [Histrionically](https://www.google.com/search?client=firefox-b-1&ei=lH9tWpfjO5fwjwPJ376wAw&q=histrionically&oq=histrionicly&gs_l=psy-ab.1.0.0i10k1j0i5i10i30k1l2j0i5i30k1j0i10i30k1.612320.616741.0.618598.8.6.0.0.0.0.59.271.5.5.0....0...1c.1j2.64.psy-ab..4.4.215...0j0i67k1j0i3k1j0i131k1.0.xtXHCRczvXY)
> 
> Since I am a very visual person, I also drew up a--really crappy--aerial diagram of my version of [Sister Margaret's](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/123isuckatdrawing) for reference.  
> Also, [319 E 95th St.](https://www.google.com/maps/@40.7831481,-73.9462261,3a,60y,180h,90t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1sooMSxTB7B3NATJK7ztp-7Q!2e0!7i13312!8i6656)  
> is an actual place in New York in case you wanted a picture to reference. 
> 
> All comments, questions, and constructive criticism welcome!


End file.
